Visions of His Past
by AwkwardedOut
Summary: The past is explored to see what shaped Karasu into the demon he has become, to explain his search for strength, the beauty he feels compelled to destroy, and the end of his quest.
1. Invitation

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Invitation:**

A bright sun beat down on the playground, heating the children and the sturdy metal of the obstacles they played on. Although the children running around in the park and the parents who watched them all sweated profusely from the high temperatures, two occupants of the area did not show any outward signs of discomfort, even though their clothes were illogical when one considered how hot the day was.

Seated on a long park bench, one of the men had a pale face that appeared untouched by the sun; the nose and mouth were covered with a gray mask; long black hair reached all the way down his back, the ends pooling on the bench behind him. His long body was clothed completely in black material, yet not a drop of sweat glistened on his skin. The other man was half a head taller than his companion, even when seated. He sat by the former and looked every bit as relaxed as the other, but everything about their posture and movements said that they were alert and wary. Clearly, neither man trusted the other. The latter put one hand into the pocket of his long green coat while the other rested on the back of the wooden bench, and explained the reason for his visit.

"The Dark Tournament?" The long-haired man repeated, looking steadily at the man beside him, not even five feet away. He wondered briefly if it would be possible to slit the person's throat with his nails. If he could just lunge sideways and follow through at exactly the right moment…

"Forget about it, Karasu. I could kill you in the time it takes for your hand to twitch." The man said with a small, amused smile on his lips.

"You're such a boring man, Toguro," Karasu replied. "We could have had a little friendly life-or-death tussle, but there you go spoiling everyone's fun again."

Toguro the younger snorted, but returned to the point of the conversation. "As I was saying, I want you to be part of my Dark Tournament team. The endgame will be against some rather interesting opponents, and who knows, you might even enjoy yourself."

"How much fun could an entire tournament spent battling mediocre demons be?" Deprived of his battle with Toguro, Karasu took up his new favorite pastime. He lifted his right hand casually in the direction of the swing set. A moment later, a small explosion tore up the ground underneath one of the swings, startling a boy who had been about to get on. The boy started crying and a woman who was probably his mother immediately rushed over to comfort him. Behind his mask, Karasu let himself smile at what a little explosion could do. Humans were so pathetic.

"These are not just regular demons. In fact, at least one—no, two—of them will be human." Toguro watched from the cover of his sunglasses as Karasu continued to send small bombs that he materialized to various places—a couple around the slide, a few underneath the bars—and setting them off when someone got close enough. No one had been seriously maimed thus far, but that was only because Karasu had no interest in killing children. He just wanted to watch the fear that ensued, with panicked parents frantically looking around for something they couldn't see and scurrying to pick up their screaming children, rushing them home or to the hospital. A broken arm acquired by falling from a bar wasn't considered to be seriously maimed, was it?

Karasu shrugged, feeling what little interest he had in the conversation quickly subsiding. Fighting humans was even more boring than fighting mediocre demons. Except… Well, those were few and far between. "So why should I join your merry little band?"

"You have nothing to lose by taking part, and you'd never forgive yourself if someone were to kill me at the tournament when you could've been there to kill them first."

Karasu snorted. As if a bunch of weak demons, not to mention weak humans, could take down Toguro when he himself had failed. Still, he had nothing better to do, and he knew that he really had no say in the matter, but he liked to pretend. No, he wouldn't have much free will until he defeated the younger Toguro—and sliced the elder one into so many pieces he would no longer be able to reform, though that would just be a bonus. Besides, Toguro did always manage to find fun people to play with. Not that the man referred to it as playing, but what else could it be called? Toguro went around collecting demons that he defeated, but did not kill, just so they would follow him around in the vain hope of defeating him someday. He was obviously just toying with them. Yes, play, definitely. Karasu sent a last bomb in the direction of a woman running out of the park with her daughter to speed them on their way. The playground deserted and himself thoroughly bored once more, he turned to Toguro and agreed to enter the Dark Tournament.


	2. Defeat

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Utter Defeat:**

A wind swept through the forest, causing the tree branches to lean forward slightly and the bushes to rustle softly. A dark figure that hid behind a set of rustling bushes tensed, afraid the sound would give him away, but there was no noticeable change in his targets' behavior. He had not drawn attention to himself yet, and neither of the two men he was following had noticed his presence. At least that was what he thought.

The two figures on whom he had set his sights walked out of the trees and into a clearing. The taller of the two bent down for a moment before he straightened to his full height and began to walk again. The man crouching behind the bushes hurriedly pushed dark strands of hair from his eyes and balanced on the balls of his feet. He was about to rush to his next cover when something whistled past his head, grazing part of his face in the process. He could feel a trickle of warm blood slide down his cheek, leaving a trail on his pale skin, but he dared not move a single muscle to wipe it away.

"There's no point in hiding. We know you're there." A deep voice called out.

Grimacing at being discovered—though he couldn't be sure how they'd known—the man stood up and left the cover of trees. He had first noticed the two men enter the forest around noon that day, had spotted them from a high tree branch. It had rained the previous night, and he had sought shelter beneath the cover of trees. In the morning, the snap of branches underfoot had woken him. He traced the noises to a tall man whose eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. The man was wearing a long green coat that hung down to his knees. On his shoulder perched someone much smaller whose long hair obscured his face. Judging by the energy that they emitted, they were definitely demons. Not very powerful ones, since their demonic aura was so weak, but demons nonetheless.

Always in need of a little exercise, even if his opponents would not take much effort to defeat, the man in the tree—a demon himself—slipped from his perch and followed them quietly, waiting for an opportunity for an ambush. That had been seven hours ago, and in that time, his keen purple eyes had not detected a single opening. The sun was but a smear above the horizon currently and it would be dark soon. He might as well openly confront them while there was still light out. It wouldn't take long to bring them down and he would even have a few hours in which to savor his victory before sleep.

"What is your name?" The larger man asked.

"Karasu," he replied. "What are the two of you called?"

The man who had initiated the conversation said, "Toguro is our name, and that is all you need to know."

The demon with long straggly hair, the elder of the two Toguros, grabbed the other one's arm and climbed his way onto his brother's shoulder to crouch there. Karasu made a face of disgust at the sight—the man resembled a large, grotesque insect clambering up someone's body. He dismissed this thought; he had encountered worse things back in Demon World.

"Are we going to kill him, Brother?" Asked the smaller demon, his eyes filled with malice.

Karasu was mildly surprised how the younger of the two brothers seemed to be the one in charge. Not that it would matter when he killed them both. With that thought in mind, Karasu rushed straight at the Toguro brothers—as if he would let them get in the first punch. He proceeded to deliver punches that should have knocked them back, but they somehow managed to dodge every blow.

Karasu jumped back to a safe distance. He hadn't even been able to land a scratch, much less a punch. This wasn't right. They should have been no match for him and he was going to prove it. With renewed vigor, he jumped into battle once more, punching and kicking furiously at the pair, his speed superior to the average demon. However, not only did the pair never get hit, they did not even fight back, which Karasu found to be the worst insult of all. It was as if he wasn't worth the effort to defeat.

Suddenly, the two demons disappeared from sight—vanished—with only an afterimage to mark where they had been. Before he could even turn his head to search for them, Karasu felt as if a boulder had been smashed against the side of his head, accompanied by a sharp pain in his midsection. The impact threw him into the grass several feet away and he coughed up a dark liquid that he realized was blood. When he looked up, the younger Toguro was towering above him while the elder looked down at him malevolently from a high perch.

"I didn't even use ten percent of my full power," the younger Toguro said, popping the knuckles of the hand he had used to strike Karasu.

There was a ringing in his ears as an aftereffect of the attack, but he could still hear what was said. Not even ten percent? Was that man telling the truth? Was he really that weak compared to them?

"Shall I, Brother?" An evil cackle accompanied the demon's question.

"If you'd like. He is of no interest to me." Toguro waved his hand dismissively, turned and walked away. The elder Toguro jumped from his brother's shoulder and landed beside Karasu's body, which was still sprawled on the ground. Toguro raised his hand and lengthened his fingers—barely more than skin and bone—to savage, twelve inch blades.

Karasu's eyes widened as he saw the blade-like fingers scissor through the air as the man wiggled them, eyes filled with glee. With effort, Karasu rolled over onto his side and tried to stand so he could run away, but his legs would not take his weight and he only managed to push himself onto his knees. He could feel, beneath the fear of imminent death, a deep humiliation at resorting to _crawling_ away from his opponent, but there was nothing else he could do. The two blows he had taken had been devastating—his ears still rang, his head pounded, and pain flared up in his chest with every labored breath—so he crawled away as fast as he could, one hand in front of the other, and hoped he was putting distance between himself and the demon who meant to kill him.

After crawling for what felt like a mile, he looked back over his shoulder to check on his pursuer. Karasu stopped in his tracks. It had in fact only been a few yards' distance, but the elder Toguro was not chasing after him. In fact, he had not moved an inch from his initial position, but stood rooted to the spot, doubled over in laughter at Karasu's pitiful attempt at escape. The ringing in Karasu's ears must have prevented him from hearing the near-hysterical shrieks that was this man's laughter before now. He debated over whether to stay and defend his pride or to value his life and take this opportunity to get farther away. Precious seconds ticked by before he finally chose the latter—escape now, revenge later—and hurriedly resumed his crawl.

"Oh, don't go," the demon called from behind him. "We were… having… so much… fun," he gasped between breaks in his laughing. Karasu continued crawling for another few feet when a sudden chill ran down his spine as he realized the shrieking had stopped. With a bound, the straggly-haired Toguro had closed the distance between them, but still made no move to attack.

Karasu eyed the sickly pale demon suspiciously. He asked cautiously, "Are you going to let me go?"

"Hm... No," Toguro concluded and the point of a shoe immediately booted Karasu viciously in the ribs—if they weren't broken before, they certainly were now. His arms crumpled beneath him, dumping him onto the ground once more. Toguro burst into renewed laughter for a minute more before he stopped himself with an effort. He used his foot to kick Karasu onto his back—he liked to see the fear in his victims' eyes when he killed them. He raised his lengthened fingers and sped them toward Karasu's vital organs.

"No!" Karasu shouted and raised his hands in an attempt to shield his body from the malicious Toguro. He felt a strange surge of energy that seemed to escape from the palms of his hands. There were suddenly several loud explosions and a piercing scream that filled the air. When Karasu did not feel anything stab him through, he lowered his hands minutely and looked around warily for his attacker, but only saw the ever-dimming sky. With a strain, he propped himself up on his elbow so he could raise his bruised and battered upper body to gain a better view of the surrounding area. Grass, grass, and more gra—there! There, just a few feet away was a spread-eagled body dressed in the same blue shirt and trousers as his attacker. The same dull, straggly hair spread out from the face, but the face was no longer there. At least, it was not whole, for there appeared to be large chunks missing from it, as well as from various other parts of the demon's body.

He must be dead; he couldn't have survived those explosions—whatever they were. Karasu did not know, and at that moment, he did not care. He had to resume his escape before the younger one discovered his brother's death and came for revenge—he couldn't take him in battle yet. Before he could roll back onto his stomach, however, a mass rose from the ground in the approximate form of Elder Toguro—minus one eye, part of his skull, and half his face in general.

"I don't know how you did this to me, but I will kill you all the more painfully for it," the demon said, his body slowly reforming.

"I-I didn't do anything! It wasn't m-me!" Karasu protested weakly.

"Too bad," Toguro sneered as he raised his reformed hand, his intent obvious.

"Stop, Brother," came the deep voice of the younger Toguro, who walked up to stand beside his brother.

"Why, Brother?" The smaller demon asked, clearly irritated by the interruption.

"Tell me, demon, did you mean to summon those bombs that attacked my brother?"

Karasu realized that Toguro was addressing him, but he did not know why. "I don't know about any bombs," he replied, painfully coughing up blood once more.

Toguro seemed to consider this statement thoughtfully before he spoke, "I think I will let you live."

"What?" Karasu sputtered, his eyes wide in amazement.

"What?" Cried Elder Toguro, enraged; however, he was ignored.

"You have potential, Karasu, but you don't realize it. Given the proper… motivations, you could become a powerful demon indeed. If you train hard enough, you might even be able to defeat me."

Defeat him. As soon as Toguro said those words, Karasu knew that it was something he wanted very badly—would pursue relentlessly if given the chance.

Toguro could see that his words had an effect on Karasu, and so he made his offer. "You have two choices. One, I kill you here and now. Or two, I let you live, and until the day you defeat me, you will serve me."

The choice was obvious—he would live and get stronger so that he could achieve his revenge. A few years of servitude, as repulsive as that sounded, was the price he would have to pay, and he would pay it—grudgingly. "I choose to live," Karasu announced, watching them carefully, afraid this had all been just a game—a lie to get some more entertainment out of him before they delivered the final blow.

To his surprise, nothing of the sort happened, although the smaller demon certainly had murderous intent emanating from his very being. Instead, the younger Toguro merely smiled before he turned and walked off, calling over his shoulder before he disappeared into the woods with his brother, "You should learn how to control those bombs of yours."

Karasu lay on the springy grass with his eyes closed and pondered Toguro's piece of advice for several hours, analyzing their implications. His bombs. They had been created by him, and even though they had not killed Elder Toguro, there had been some rather painful-looking holes for a while. Somehow, if he could master them, they could be effective weapons. As an afterthought, Karasu wondered if the Toguros might even become lax in their guard sometime down the line. Well, he would certainly not give up the opportunity if it arose. The night had fully descended when he finally opened his heavy lids, so he decided to find cover for the night.

He pushed himself onto his elbows and analyzed the amount of pain that he felt. It wasn't nearly as much as earlier, indicating that the hours in which he had not moved had allowed for some partial healing. Given a few more days, he would be back to full health. Karasu carefully leveraged himself to his feet and stood—a bit wobbly, but he stayed standing this time, and slowly hobbled to the edge of the trees.


	3. Vision

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Vision:**

The roars of hundreds of demons poured from the stadium. A large crowd of demons who had not purchased tickets before they were sold out, or who had not been able to afford them, stood in front of giant screens that displayed the battle within. They roared along with their demon brethren within at the pain the two fighters were inflicting on one another, watching as the human and demon pounded one another repeatedly, the blades at their feet digging deeper into their heels with each strike.

From the surrounding trees emerged Karasu. His face was covered with a metal mask that left only the upper portion visible. From beneath several strands of long raven hair, violet eyes turned to the screen on the stadium wall before he continued into the round structure.

Karasu's path through the inner halls of the stadium went unchallenged until he entered the corridor that led to the VIP room reserved for the Black Black Club. Here, there were several low-level demons who guarded the door to their billionaire bosses. The fools, thinking only of the bonuses they would receive for killing an intruder, decided to attack Karasu. Even with three against one, Karasu easily disposed of them, leaving behind burning corpses as he entered the room beyond.

Karasu joined Younger Toguro before the glass panel that looked down into the ring below. The two fighters he'd seen on the screen were still on display, the blades several centimeters deeper than before. Toguro pointed out the human boy, Urameshi, who was fighting against the demon Chu. Urameshi was the one Toguro had mentioned as a worthy opponent even for Karasu. Certainly, the human boy had done well so far to hold his own against a demon, but Chu's power was mediocre at best. He couldn't compete with Karasu when it came to strength. If the human was only evenly matched with someone of that level, he would have to get much stronger to make it to the tournament finals. If he didn't die first.

* * *

><p>He and Toguro moved to the stands for a better view and joined the company of discontent rabble. There was a deafening noise coming from the demons—weaklings, all of them—who were gathered in the stands, ready to witness some bloodshed and dismemberment. Just moments before they had been cheering for the drunkard. Now that the victor was clear, they cheered just as loudly for the human to kill his already defeated opponent. Low-level demons were such stupid, fickle creatures. They would have turned tail at the sight of Urameshi or foolishly rushed to their deaths had they been the ones in the ring. Karasu felt only disdain towards the weaker of his kind.<p>

Karasu watched as one of Urameshi's teammates helped him hobble to the ringside after his Knife-Edge Death Match, but something else attracted his attention. The one with the long red mane had caught his eye, and he was at once excited. Kurama. Toguro clearly thought it was the boy Urameshi who would potentially be a worthy opponent, but he was for Toguro to battle, not Karasu. The tall, raven-haired demon had his eyes set on another member of the team. One from whom Karasu could sense demon energy, but that energy was trapped within a human body. A frail, easily broken, red-haired, green-eyed human body.

* * *

><p>Karasu watched the redhead's match against the shinobi team from a shadowed archway in the highest level of the stadium. Twice, Kurama had outwitted his opponents in the ring. The shinobi had underestimated him, had thought him incapacitated because he did not have the use of his arms and legs, because his spirit energy was trapped within. But Kurama was a brilliant fighter, and he had survived beautifully. The rose whip that twined around those long crimson locks and sliced through the Master of Disguise, and the death plant that had been sown into his arm and used to pierce through the Master of Ice's midsection—painful, desperate, innovative, ingenious. A twinge of anticipation ran through Karasu's body—he couldn't wait until he was the one to inflict such damage and desperation in the demon, to see those green eyes glare at him in such determination. But perhaps that was not meant to be, as Karasu watched the next shinobi step into the ring. He could tell by the man's energy that he was significantly weaker than the ice user. However, strength didn't matter when the opposition stood unconscious in the ring. As with every other decision made by the Tournament Committee, this one was made against the human team's favor as well. Kurama would fight regardless of his physical state. There was no room for weakness among demons.<p>

* * *

><p>Had Kurama died in that battle, whether he was conscious to fight it or not, Karasu would have deemed him unworthy to fight, unworthy to kill. Yet, by miracle or by fate, the fragile human shell the demon's spirit occupied had survived the large brute's beatings. Although no change could be discerned in Karasu's indifferent demeanor, the demon felt something akin to joy. Joy at the prospect of Kurama coming one step closer to him. Soon, Karasu would be able to drag his slender fingers through that hair, wrap them around that pale neck, and little by little drain the life from that lovely face.<p>

Those demons in the stands who cheered and called out for Kurama's death knew nothing. They were so caught up in the bloodlust that they couldn't see the beauty that the slim, broken figure possessed. Karasu toyed with the idea of blowing off a few of the demons' heads for their ignorance, but discarded the idea. They weren't worth it. He would reserve that special privilege for Kurama, whom he had long ago decided would be his opponent. His beautiful, red-haired opponent.

* * *

><p>Karasu walked through the dark corridor that led to the arena. Toguro had his own match outside the stadium to attend to, so that meant he actually had to fight today. As he walked onto the field, he glanced over at the opposing team. A sigh escaped his lips. What a disappointment, there was no one interesting to kill. He turned his eyes to the crowd and was inwardly delighted to find a pair of green eyes staring down at him intently. Their eyes locked for a moment, and Karasu watched Kurama's gaze follow him into the ring. After all those afternoons he had stalked the redhead's matches from the shadows, and now the roles had been reversed. No longer bored, he turned to his opponent, some hideous beast babbling about how he was not inferior despite public opinion. How amusing. Who was he trying to fool? Feeling the intense eyes of his special spectator still upon him, Karasu decided to put on a show for him.<p>

The demon from the opposing team, Midorenjya, began the fight by expelling energy from his body. The demon created a ball of energy in his palm and sent it hurling towards Karasu. Without the slightest effort, Karasu dodged the attack and commenced his own. His cloak fanned out behind him like wings as he leapt into the air and descended upon the smaller demon. He placed a slight touch on the demon's shoulder and landed a few feet away. A blast sounded behind him, taking with it Midorenjya's right arm. His hand shot out again and the left arm came off next. When his opponent turned tail and ran, Karasu finished him off, leaving no remains. The message was clear: _This is what my touch will do to you._ He glanced towards the stands to find a look of despair on his viewer's face. Kurama had just gotten a glimpse at Karasu's abilities, and knew he didn't stand a chance. Beautiful.

* * *

><p>Both Bui and the elder Toguro's battles had been effortlessly won as well. When Karasu saw Kurama turn to leave now that the show was over, he turned on his heel and returned to the inner stadium. Bui followed suit. It was time for a proper introduction.<p>

They found Kurama easily enough in one of the main corridors. Here, Karasu heard his voice for the first time. It was soft and light. Karasu thought it suited his image of a soft and easily breakable human perfectly. In addition to those qualities, Kurama's voice was also reserved, and Karasu saw it as a challenge for him to force the demon into screaming out loud in agony. That would be music to his ears.

As the two demons exchanged greetings, Karasu watched as Kurama's eyes narrowed in suspicion and the wheels of his mind turned furiously to decipher his words. _Four would die in the finals. One would die today._ It was a lovely sight to watch. Then, without warning, Bui smashed his fist and cracked the wall beside him. Karasu used this distraction to his full advantage and slipped past Kurama's guard.

From behind, the demon could see the full head of red hair clearly. Karasu's fingers were finally able to weave themselves into the loose strands so close to that pale neck. He leaned in close as the red locks fell through his fingers to inhale the scent that entered through his mask's filters. Roses, he noted. They smelled like roses. That certainly brought back memories. A sinister smile curled his lips behind the mask. However, he was mildly disappointed to find that Kurama's hair was damaged. It was brittle, dry, and split at the ends. Clearly, the redhead did not care for it vigilantly. Karasu hoped the weak state of those strands, so easily pulled out in his long fingers, was not an indication of the strength of the person to whom they belonged.

When Kurama lashed out with an elbow at his face, Karasu leapt back to his position beside Bui. He teased Kurama lightly, knowing that this would probably serve to infuriate the normally calm demon, and he was right. He liked to see that fiery spirit light up in the person standing opposite him and he wanted very much to crush it, but that would have to wait until their match.


	4. Beauty

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Beauty:**

_It had happened that time, too._

_Night was always dark when no moon or stars lit up the sky, and they were not visible that evening. Demon World was cloaked in darkness, making it the perfect time for a raid._

_A group of at least twenty demons had gathered at the base of a cliff. Each one carried a broadsword or spear in his hand. No torches had been lit so that their presence would not be detected by the inhabitants or guards who occupied the castle at the cliff's peak. Living in camps in the woods or empty caves, avoiding notice by other bandits, these demons had grown accustomed to seeing and operating in the dark. Swiftly, with their weapons either clutched between their teeth or slipped through a sash at their waist, the bandits scaled the side of the cliff. The hand and footholds in the face of the rock were plentiful, so the progress was quick. Once again on flat land, the company held their bodies low to the ground to avoid detection as they ran toward the castle gates. Only a muffled curse and two soft thumps could be heard as they disposed of the guards at the entrance. They entered the structure through a side door designated for servants and moved silently through the stone corridors._

_Anyone the rowdy company came upon was slaughtered on sight. There was no reason—it was just for a spot of fun. Every room along the way was checked for people and valuables. The people were killed. The valuables were taken. It was a simple process._

* * *

><p><em>A young Karasu crawled into the servants quarters located in the very back of the demon castle. The space was small and cramped; it was not equipped with windows and no artificial light shined. He received several claws to the back or backhanded slaps to the head as he stumbled over the mass of bodies to his own allotted area at the room's back. He had just returned from a thrashing at the hands of his master. This particular demon would punish his servants for the smallest mistake or simply for no reason at all. Karasu was usually beaten within an inch of his life, but that was preferable to suffering the master's more inventive punishments.<em>

_Karasu's own mother had been forced to drink a poison that literally melted her from the inside out—all because she had not prepared the meal to the master's tastes. Her screams of agony had haunted Karasu's dreams for months, but that was nothing compared to the image of his mother lying on the stone floor—blood and acid frothing at her mouth as her eyes rolled into the back of her head—that had been burned into his mind. It had gotten to be too much for the child to endure; when the lord turned his back, a swift cut was delivered, cutting off the gurgles fraught with pain and blood. The lord had only observed the freshly severed head that rolled into his foot with disdain before kicking it away._

_In another instance, a demon had attempted to steal a plate of rotting human meat—a delicacy that was very rare and difficult to come by—from the kitchens. When she was caught, the castle servants had broken the bones in her limbs and hung her from the mouth of a cave on their master's order. That cave was the den of demonic carnivores, and she was not blessed with an instant death. Over the span of a month and a half, the carnivores—small and weak—feasted on whatever part of her their fangs could reach. Strips of what once had formed her body hanged from her bones in shreds, but still her demonic nature kept her alive. Her only wish was for the demons to be stronger, so that they could pick her bones clean of meat and end her suffering once and for all. If not for the storm that tore her bonds one night, tossing her into the pit at last, she would have lasted for several months yet._

* * *

><p><em>Karasu curled himself into a ball on a thin layer of straw spread upon the floor and nursed his stinging wounds. The child was a quicker healer than most other demons. The large red welts and bloody gashes he sported from his face down to his feet would heal within a few days. It was one of the reasons his master, whenever he was in a foul mood, would call upon Karasu for some entertainment. Sometimes he used a blade, sometimes a whip, other times his own hands and feet. It didn't matter. The boy would always be healthy again in just a few days, and the more powerful demon could take out his frustrations on the child again.<em>

_He had only just embraced sleep when a crash wrenched him from the comfortable state. He sat up, lids heavy, brain fogged with sleep. Several dark figures stormed into the small room, paying no heed to the bodies they trampled underfoot or the cries of indignation that followed._

_Karasu thought he had been the last one to turn in for the night; he didn't understand who these shadowy figures were—until the slaughtering started. Large blades were raised high in the air and brought down in great arcs, beheading two in one swing, carving another in half. Any screams were immediately cut off as the head left the neck. Others in the room met their ends with spears in their lungs, drowning in their own blood._

_The remaining servants fought back to the best of their ability. The bandits had their hands full with suppressing the demons, so they didn't notice a small figure crawling along the length of the wall, melding into the shadows. Just a little farther and he would be able to reach the door left ajar, lit by a soft glow._

_A few more yards. Karasu's mouth was drier than a desert, but his entire body was drenched in sweat and fear. Unable to take the anxiety any longer, he made a run for it. Nearly there… nearly—"Ah!" Someone had grabbed him by the arm and wrenched it back until flames erupted in his shoulder. Tears of pain and fear dripped from eyes that watched the open doorway moving further and further away. A shiver ran down his spine as a broad blade was held before his face; he could feel cold emanating from the steel. With the sharp edge approaching his throat, Karasu's limbs moved of their own accord—beating, punching, kicking against the solid form that held him. Nothing worked. With one final, desperate cry, one small hand pounded behind him—a trail of pain burned down the length of his arm. When the sensation escaped from his open palm, something detonated behind him._

_Without warning, Karasu met the stone floor painfully. He didn't know what had caused his captor to drop him, but it didn't matter. Giddy with freedom, he raced for the light, the mad slaps of his bare feet playing in accompaniment to the furious scream that followed him from the servants quarters. Several times, he had to deviate from his course to seek refuge behind a curtain of human skin or fold his body into a shadowed hollow in the stone. His body was small, so it easily fit into all the little nooks and crannies the old castle offered—the advantages of being a child._

_Hands clamped over his mouth to keep his breathing stifled, the child waited for the danger to pass. When the raiders could no longer be heard, he would scramble out and pelt down the hall once more._

* * *

><p><em> Cautious feet stepped into the kitchen, quiet upon the cold stone. Violet eyes rolled wildly, searching for the smallest sign of movement. He was alone. Quickly, the door was opened. The boy plunged into the nearby woods, fueled by fear, running until his short gasps could no longer fill his lungs. Knees hit dirt as he gasped for air.<em>

_ While he regained his breath, he noticed there was a weight clinging to his arm. Looking down, he saw a large clawed hand wrapped around the small limb. It belonged to the demon who had caught him in the servants room. The boy grabbed the severed hand around its burnt stump and pried it off; successful, the extremity was tossed into nearby bushes. The sound it made falling through the dry leaves startled the young demon—nerves still on edge—into running further down the forest slope._

_ His night vision not entirely developed, the world seemed to turn upside down as a rock tripped his scurrying feet and he was sent hurtling down the hill. Stones and twigs left their marks on his flesh in his plunge until his momentum came to a jarring halt at the trunk of a tree._

The air is so clean…_ Hazy with pain, he wasn't sure where the thought had come from, but it didn't matter; his mind fell into blackness._

* * *

><p>The wind of Human World was so light, so clean compared to the smell of slaughter that blew through Demon World. He still remembered that much—amidst all the pain and suffering that obscured the memories of his childhood, there was the scent that accompanied it all. There was fresh blood and oozing pus that had flooded his senses—attacked his nose with their smell, filled his eyes with their image, invaded his ears with their sound—on a daily basis. However, underneath the new scents, there was always that one pervasive odor that was constantly in the background. It had been there so long that no one took notice of it anymore. Life. It was the scent of life. Or death. But to a demon, the two were not separate.<p>

Opening his eyes, Karasu was greeted with green foliage, a light blue sky and floating white clouds. With a groan, he raised himself on his elbows, feeling jarring pain shoot from his midsection. Just as he was about to collapse back onto the grass, the sound of rustling caught his attention.

He stopped, breathing shallow. Was it the Toguros back for another round already? Perhaps they had decided to rescind the offer from the previous night and had come back to finish him off. The moment of panic played out, and Karasu returned to his senses. Calming himself, he raised his nose into the air and inhaled, grimacing at the pain that even a deep breath evoked. Willing his mind to focus, he determined that the air was pure and clean; it carried with it no traces of death and decay. Not a demon, then.

"Whoever you are, come out," he called, injecting his voice with a threatening tone despite the burning in his lungs. The sound of a twig snapping reached his ears. After some more rustling, a human woman stepped into the open. She was still a good measure away from him—too far for him to reach with his claws, too far for him to pounce upon with his injuries.

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?" A quiet voice asked. It came from her.

"I'm fine," Karasu said, carrying an arrogant tone. He would have added that he didn't need help from a human, but he didn't think he was in the condition to brag. If the woman decided to inform nearby villagers of a demon in the vicinity, he wondered if he could outrun the lynch mob that came after him. Possibly—but his body wouldn't take to it kindly. No, what he needed was a few more days of rest.

"I see," the woman replied. Without another word, she turned around and disappeared back into the foliage.

_Well, that was easy,_ Karasu thought as he gently lowered himself back onto the ground, dizzy from just the small exertion. Violet eyes watched as the clouds drifted past, one after the other. This time when crackling leaves disturbed the silence, he didn't bother getting up. It was the same woman whose scent he had picked up before. Suspicious eyes flicked to the approaching form that knelt at his side. Without a word, the woman began to clean his wounds. He slapped her hand away, leaving an angry red mark on the white skin.

"What the hell are you doing?" He snarled menacingly.

"Helping you," she replied, rubbing the stinging portion of her hand.

"I told you I didn't want your help," he reminded her, none too kindly.

"You were just too proud to admit it," she told him with a knowing air. She then proceeded with her task, mindless of his warnings. Karasu would have normally just slit the person's throat open and left his or her body for the beasts; however, he didn't have the strength yet to flee any persecutors who may give chase upon discovering the savagely mutilated body. Instead, he decided to bide his time, wait until his recovery was complete. In the meantime, he studied the woman who was now applying a thick green paste to the many injuries.

Her hair was a unique color—an enticing shade of red, like the wild roses he had seen growing by the river. As he surveyed the face beneath the red strands, he thought that humans were truly hideous creatures. Even the most unattractive females in Demon World bore prettier faces than a human. Still, the hair was a captivating color. Red—not quite like blood—but he thought it was close enough. His hand gravitated towards those strands that trailed down her back—easily within reach.

Her voice interrupted the demon's musings, causing the stretching hand to drop to his side. "I think you have a few broken ribs. You should see someone about those. There's a village nearby—" She was cut off before the suggestion could be finished.

"It's fine. They'll heal in a few days." He knew they would; this wasn't so different from his injuries back in his life of service. There was something about that life that was trying to push itself to the surface of his thoughts, but he suppressed it; those were not times he cared to recall. The woman bore an expression of doubt; however, she did not pursue the matter. Instead, she changed the subject.

"Were you in a fight?"

"Yes," he replied. It was an obvious enough fact. Really, humans could be so stupid.

"You lost?" She asked.

"Obviously," he answered dryly, indicating the cloth in her hand, red with his blood. Some of it was fresh, from when she had rubbed through the dried blood caked on his skin. Even as her careless ministrations broke the thin, newly formed scabs, his thoughts were otherwise occupied. The mixture of pink and red that spread on the white cloth—he thought it complimented the tint of her hair nicely, and wondered what life the sunlight would bring to the strands.

"At least you're alive," she said, taking his idle thoughts down a vengeful path. Karasu growled low in his throat, startling the woman.

"The next time I see those bastards, I will be stronger, and I will tear them limb from limb," he promised himself vehemently. The woman seemed to consider his words for a while.

"Sometimes, beauty can be more powerful," she said with a small smile. Seeing the look of indignation mingled with confusion on his face, she elaborated. The forest, the river, the flowers, nature at its best—they were all things of beauty. Each year—through the heat, the rain, and the snow—they survived, and their beauty thrived. Once she had finished binding the bandages, she rose and left the demon to himself.

Her words struck him. Beauty. It was not a concept recognized as anything significant in the demon world. In fact, it was a completely foreign idea to Karasu, who had never experienced a beautiful moment in his life. Until recent years, his life had been filled with servitude and beatings. Except maybe when he had stumbled into the human world and grasped the freedom that it afforded him. He remembered it had been a liberating moment when he knew that no bloodthirsty demons chased after him anymore, that he wouldn't have to bow down to those more powerful than him, or lower himself to being a punching bag simply for the amusement of the master of that castle. No, beauty was not something he understood, for he had learned at an early age the harsh laws that governed his world.

In the demon world, everyone strived for power, and power got one respect. Beauty had nothing to do with demons. It was useless. It had to be. After all, what was he supposed to do? Dazzlethe Toguros to death with his beauty—his smile? They'd die of laughter, probably, and his pride would perish right along with them. No, strength was the only thing worth pursuing for a demon. That was what Karasu thought—what he had always thought—but as he watched her in the following days, coming to that same spot beneath the trees in order to tend to his wounds, he wondered if he still believed in that concept.

Karasu was a young demon, an adolescent in human terms, and had crossed over into Human World at an even younger age. He knew that in Demon World, strength was the deciding factor in a battle. Sometimes cunning could turn the tide in a fight, but that wasn't so important when one was strong. Even though, he had to admit, the woman had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Perhaps because he had been separated from his demon brethren at merely twelve, he was not so set in his beliefs. Perhaps, he could believe her words.

As the days passed, he continued to observe the person who cared for his quickly healing wounds. She was not strong. In fact, she was exceptionally weak. She had not a violent bone in her body, and clearly had no spirit awareness, or she would have known not to let Karasu—a demon—within striking distance. He could have easily snapped her in two.

Food was offered on several occasions, but he had refused them; he had not sunk so low as to eat from a human's palm like a dog. She always left a basket of fruit and bread by the tree before leaving, but he never so much as glanced at it. It didn't matter. In a few days, the pain would recede completely, and he would hunt.

During her visits, she would talk to him for reasons he couldn't comprehend. Why would he care about the pathetic humans and the tales of their worthless lifestyles? So long as they were not pursuing him with bows and arrows or torches, they were inconsequential. Another few days, and he could outrun those foolish humans. Until then, his eyes would follow the sway of red locks in the shade and scrutinize the glint of gold patches in the light.


	5. Power

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Power:**

There she was—body atop the patch of roses, hair fanned out across the bed of crushed petals, eyes wide open and lips parted, pinpricks of blood dotting her skin. When her thrashing subsided and the weak grip on his wrists loosened, he removed his hands from her throat.

Karasu gazed down upon the woman's face, which had become familiar in the short time since they had met. The only difference was her expression—no longer one of foolish, ignorant happiness, but one locked in the terror she had felt in her final moments. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that he had put that fear there.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" he asked softly, mocking her.

In life, she had spoken to him ceaselessly of all the things he had never cared to know, but no annoying words answered him now, or ever would again. A finger traced the curve of her mouth, around the lips that had opened in a final desperate effort to breathe, a silent scream—more pleasing to the ears by far than her incessant chatter. The finger traveled down further, to the base of her slender neck. A smile found his lips as he examined his work there, the dark marks that tainted her otherwise fair skin—his memento to her.

She had not been the first person the demon had ever killed. Many had preceded her, and yet, this kill was different from previous ones. He could feel it as surely as he had felt her dying pulse beneath his fingers. He could have clawed out her throat the instant she'd walked into his patch of the forest that afternoon. The razor-sharp tips of his nails would have been enough to sever her artery, draining her life along with her blood. But that would have been too quick, and he would have gained little satisfaction and no confirmation. It would have only been another person dead. But that wasn't what had happened.

This wasn't simply a killing that had occurred in the heat of battle or as a means to an end; this was murder, and there was something far more intimate in murder. He had put effort and thought into the act: he had chosen for her the place most suited for her death; had led her to see the riverside roses, their petals scarlet like her hair; had, amidst the crushed petals and sharp thorns, felt her body grow weaker in its struggles with every passing second.

He had cared enough to choose a slow death for her, to make certain she too could feel the futility of her struggle, could feel herself slipping into the abyss. This was their bond. They were connected now. Karasu couldn't remember the faces of his many defeated opponents, but he knew that her face would remain in his mind forever. He may not have bothered to remember her name, but he wouldn't ever forget his victim.

Of course, the end result had solidified Karasu's notions and restored the young demon's faith in his original beliefs—strength ruled all. To defeat the Toguros, he would need absolute strength. Beauty could not win against it—he had proven that. He had even given her ample time to prove him wrong, to show him the power of her—evidently flimsy—belief. Even as she had twisted beneath him and clawed at the hands wrapped around her throat, he had held back his true strength, but it was futile to the very end. The only impressions she had made upon him were the shallow gouges in his skin from her nails, but these would heal by day's end, lasting no longer than she had. He had tested her, and she had failed.

And yet, there was something to be said for beauty. Even if it was useless, Karasu found that he was still attracted to it, and so long as he could prove his dominance, that was fine, he decided.

He looked down at the long, thick strands spread across the ground, their brightness in contrast with the green of the grass.

"I really did like your hair," he told her, finally giving in and reaching out to touch it. He could tell it was well cared for by its feel. "It's just as soft as I imagined."

The red strands ghosted across his skin as they slipped through parted fingers. A tingling sensation lingered after they fell. He wanted to run his hands through her hair for hours, to tangle his fingers and lock them in the strands, to watch them glint in the sunlight as the star moved across the sky, but this was not to be. He was enraged to find that the blood from when he had smashed her head against a jagged rock had pooled beneath her. The liquid ran through her hair, causing the soft mane to become sticky and matted. It was untouchable now, and it was no longer beautiful.

With a growl at having been denied his prize, his left arm swept over the body. A familiar sensation rushed along the limb and her corpse suddenly exploded all along its length. Karasu jumped in surprise. As the smoke cleared, he saw a bloody mess of flesh and bones strewn over the grass. There was hardly any part of the body that remained whole.

* * *

><p>An hour later found Karasu walking leisurely along the riverbank, having abandoned the body—or rather, mutilated pieces of one—that no longer held any interest for him. Let the villagers discover her and give chase, if the animals did not find her first. Fully recovered, there was nothing the humans could do that he couldn't handle.<p>

He had no destination in mind, instead only pondering how he could become stronger. He couldn't pursue the Toguros straight away—not at his current level. That meant training, but how and where? Humans were frail and weak; they wouldn't be much of a challenge—something he had always known, but that the woman had confirmed. Perhaps he could find other demons who had crossed over.

Not for the first time, Karasu examined his hand, marveling at the power that had previously manifested. If he could just learn to control this ability, he knew he could defeat any opponent.

After some time, the demon exited the woods. Without the protection of the trees, the sun overhead beat down on him, parching his throat, so he headed for the gurgling stream nearby. He knelt down on the grassy bank and reached out his hands to scoop the clear water. It was then that he noticed his right hand was gripped tightly around something.

Karasu uncurled his fingers and found in his palm several strands of hair. He must have ripped them out of her scalp without realizing it. Amazingly, they were not tainted by blood. However, instead of becoming excited, he continued to stare at them, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

They were still the same color, he was sure of it, but somehow, they had lost their attraction. They no longer shone in the light, and the fibers felt rigid and frail, as if they could easily snap in half. It was yet more proof that beauty was fleeting, while power was eternal. After several minutes, Karasu turned his palm over and allowed the strands to fall into the water. His violet eyes glowed with an ominous red hue as he watched the miniscule pieces get swept away.


	6. Victor

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Yu Yu Hakusho.

AN: Inspired by Kamelot's cover of the song "Where the Wild Roses Grow," in their album _Poetry for the Poisoned. _Because Khan's voice makes everything better. (Also not mine.)

**Victor:**

Karasu stood in the waiting area, listening to the rabble beyond the doors. They were alternately cheering and calling for blood, worked into a frenzy by the anticipation of the finals. For once, Karasu could relate with them, as he felt the excitement buzz along his veins.

Long ago, he had discovered the most powerful high that he could feel. It was the rush of adrenaline that fueled his joy mixed with the smallest amount of remorse—remorse that he had ended the existence of such a beautiful creature; joy at the intimacy that they now shared. The act, the murder, had made their bond eternal, and this bond between murderer and victim would forever be etched into both their hearts. Now, he wished to form that same bond with the demon on the other side of those gates—he would carve his memory into Kurama's heart forever.

"I don't care whom you fight, but Kurama is mine," he told Toguro.

"Do you remember what I said before? I told you that you are not allowed your own entertainment until you can defeat me."

Karasu tensed, ready to test his strength against Toguro once more. He had been waiting for the opportunity to finally kill the man. However, Toguro merely waved his hostility aside.

"I'm not going to fight you here, Karasu. It just so happens that this time, your obsession works into my plan."

Their team was announced then, and the gates before them opened, but Toguro made no move to enter the arena.

"Not that it matters, but why are you so intent on killing that particular demon?"

Karasu regarded the demon from the corner of his eyes, trying to determine if there was an ulterior motive behind the query. Then, figuring it made no difference if the man knew, he replied simply, "I have a weakness for beautiful things." It just wasn't the type of weakness that Toguro could use against him.

The other did not comment on this, merely shrugged and led the way onto the field. There was a moment of stunned silence before the stadium erupted into uproarious cheering for their team and the slaughter that was sure to ensue.

Immediately, Karasu's eyes locked upon Kurama. Even the human boy powering up didn't distract his attention from his soon-to-be victim. He took a step forward, anticipating their imminent battle. Soon, he would get to wrap his fingers around that pale neck…

"Not yet," Toguro's voice broke through his fantasy, halting Karasu's step.

He shot an annoyed glare at the man, but before he could voice his displeasure at being kept from his long-awaited match, sounds of discontent from the audience reached his ears. In the ring, the referee declared that both teams indeed must have five players in order to continue.

Karasu scoffed behind his mask. As if he cared for their regulations. He was going to fight Kurama with or without their consent.

"Patience, Karasu," Toguro warned, as if reading his thoughts.

He directed another glower at the man, and then tossed his head, setting his eyes to wander the bleachers. If he couldn't play with Kurama yet, perhaps he should find something to do while he waited. Who to kill first...?

Just as he was about to blow the arm off of an unsuspecting demon in the stands, the gates behind them slid open once more. One of the humans who had sponsored the tournament—the only one left, according to Toguro—strode out. Not that Karasu cared, as long as his presence moved things along.

"Since Team Urameshi has failed…" The referee meant to disqualify Kurama before he'd had a chance to toy with him.

Karasu's finger twitched inside his pocket, directing an explosive toward the referee's face. Before he could detonate the device, however, the opposite pair of gates slid apart, releasing mist that curled across the ground. Out of the vapor walked a figure who he assumed was the other replacement fighter. At last.

Stepping onto the stage, he tried not to let the swiftness in his steps belie his calm demeanor. Violet eyes caught green as he raised a hand to his head, and pulled an imaginary trigger in invitation. _Bang_.

He smiled when Kurama stepped forward, meeting him in the center of the ring.

"Begin!"

Kurama started off with a whirlwind of rose petals that spiraled around him, filling the space between them.

Karasu found it cute that Kurama was trying to keep him at a distance. There was such determination in those green eyes, as if they truly believed the pretty little flowers could keep him at bay. As the petals swirled in the air, certain memories resurfaced.

His first victim—he still remembered her, though it had been decades since their parting; she had followed him like a trusting fool, all the way to her deathbed. The person before him now—he had also willingly stepped onto the stage, into the reach of his embrace. If anything, Kurama seemed even more eager to meet his end at Karasu's hands than she had—the redhead had even supplied the crimson blossoms that would decorate his corpse.

That his victims should share so much in common in their final moments only served to further Karasu's conviction that Kurama was meant to be his—his to break, his to destroy.

Slowly, he walked into the flurry of petals, each step bringing him closer to the man on the other side. Something warm slid down his cheek—a drop of blood. The rose petals were sharper than they appeared, but he hoped Kurama could provide more of a challenge than a paper-cut. Just as this thought occurred to him, the swirl of the blossoms increased in intensity, and every single one flew toward him with its razor-sharp edges.

Unperturbed, Karasu raised his arms, and multiple blasts reduced everything around him to smoldering ash. Through the smoke and embers, he could see Kurama's shock and despair as the implications of his counterattack settled in. Knowing that he had been the one to instill those feelings in the redhead sent a shiver up his spine.

He ran forward, instantly reducing the distance between them to zero, hands shooting out in wide arcs to catch the other in their grip. His power didn't manifest solely from his touch, but he wanted the intimacy it would bring, once his hands closed around those thin wrists or brushed across that pale skin. Didn't Kurama realize that his touch wasn't to be feared, but welcomed? His caress could bring the demon such exquisite pain, if only he would stop denying it.

Kurama's trademark weapon hurtled toward him at incredible speed, but a mere wave of his hand caused the plant to combust along its length. Then, before his opponent could gather his wits, Karasu rushed him again, poisonous claws extending forward to tear the flesh from his body. This close, the other demon's scent filtered through his mask. It was the scent of roses that perpetually lingered around his person, mixed with the tang of fear that became more potent with each lunge. As Kurama's dodging steadily slowed, Karasu's own strikes suddenly gained in intensity, seeking to fuel that fear.

He spotted an opening and took it, only to have Kurama evade at the last second, leaving pebbles in his grasp. The blast a second later put a smile on his lips; the redhead had unwittingly fallen into his trap. A hand was grasping the injured arm, but he could still see the trickle of red staining the white sleeve between Kurama's fingers. There was pain there—in the way he clutched the wound, the clench of his jaw, and the furrow of his brows.

He wondered what thoughts were running through his opponent's mind at that moment. Did Kurama think this was the end? Or perhaps he was formulating some sort of strategy, a way to leave the ring with his life.

Laughing, Karasu maneuvered a trap into place, easily cutting off Kurama's escape when the demon turned to run. When the redhead's leg brushed up against the unseen device, a cry escaped him. It was music to Karasu's ears.

He was toying with him, but even Toguro couldn't complain this time. After all, he was winning, wasn't he?

Several more detonations later, the sheen of sweat on Kurama's brow was prominent, and his breath ragged enough that Karasu could detect it from across the large ring. At this point, his victim was barely able to stand anymore, much less fight; he wouldn't last much longer. With some regret that his fun should end so soon, Karasu leaped into the air. He experienced a great thrill seeing the wide green eyes that followed his trajectory, knowing that he would be the last thing they ever saw.

The explosion rang out below him.

Waiting for the smoke to disperse, there was a moment of pain as the stem of a rose impaled his palm. Annoyed at the pathetic attempt at retaliation, he ripped out the flower and crushed it in his fist.

An immense energy poured forth from where he had last seen Kurama, but it was not the red-haired demon who stepped out of the mist; someone else had taken his place.

He could hear the comments from the announcer as well as the complaints from the stands. Some called him the spirit fox, others called him Yoko Kurama, but those titles meant nothing to him, and only served to emphasize one thing: this was not his opponent.

The silver-haired demon standing across from him in the arena was not the vision he had fought previously. There was none of the same fragility that characterized humans, none of the weakness that had given him delight at the thought of exploiting. This was not the person he yearned to make suffer. This new fighter did not flinch at the wounds Karasu had inflicted on his body, did not carry the stubborn determination to continue fighting against an adversary who clearly dominated him in battle.

Karasu bared his teeth in anger—this demon, Yoko Kurama, was not his.

The fox emanated a cold superiority, from the disdain in his pale golden eyes to the arrogance that dripped from his voice, and it irked Karasu. He liked to see his prey helpless and squirming. This fox needed to be put in his place, but Yoko continuously dodged his attacks, all agility and haughty ease, with none of the frantic scrambles for survival his counterpart had displayed.

Sending another wave of explosives after the man, he laughed when his creations cornered him. Just as he was about to annihilate the impudent demon, explosions not of his making ruptured the stone at his feet. From the cracks rose multiple slithering, thorny stems that attached to a bulb. The bulbs opened their leaves as they aimed for him, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that reduced the stage to rubble each time he evaded their maws.

As he prepared to escape to the other side of the ring, more plants erupted from the ground before him, cutting off his path. There was laughter from behind; no doubt the fox had purposely recreated this particular scene. When the plants began to shoot energy beams, he took to the air and detonated explosives in their midst.

He thought the problem had been eradicated, but was plucked off the ground upon landing, one of the creatures closing its leaves over him. Soon, the others fell upon him as well, one after the other. He could feel their pointed teeth sinking into every inch of his flesh, and his view of the stadium became obscured by darkness. He tried to move his arms, but they were bound by the ferns that wound tightly around his body.

Through the sounds of thrashing stems and gnawing teeth, he could make out the infernal fox's voice, smug with his supposed victory, and the announcer naming Yoko the victor.

Anger flared within him. They thought him so easily defeated, just because he had not killed Yoko right away, had _allowed_ the fox to live a while longer. Well, he was done being merciful. By the time he was finished, there would be nothing left of Yoko but ashes in the wind.

The plants that clung to him ignited. When their mouths opened in dying shrieks, he dropped to the ground. Sometime during the assault, his mask had come off—but no matter; he didn't need it anymore.

They had thought him defeated, dead, _weak_. They wouldn't underestimate him now that he had escaped from the ferns, but it was already too late. He was going to kill them; he was going to _kill them_ _all_, starting with Yoko.

The removal of his mask allowed him to internalize his powers and channel the explosive qualities of his bombs with his entire body. But there was a risk: the volatile nature of his power caused him to become a living, breathing bomb that could go off at the slightest provocation. He would kill without reserve, without taking the time and care to truly enjoy the process. But that was all right now, because the person who stood before him didn't deserve his attention.

With a laugh, he charged, no longer needing to create vessels to act as bombs, because he _was _the bomb. The resulting blast of energy took out his enemy and a good portion of the audience as well. Karasu couldn't see his handiwork through the veil of smoke, but he didn't need to; Yoko's energy had disappeared, and that was as good of an indicator as a corpse. When the smoke cleared, there was only a crater where Yoko had stood.

His victory was short-lived, however. A second later, the broken slabs of stone that had fallen outside the ring began to shift, and a figure emerged from the rubble. His eyes narrowed, but it wasn't the silver-haired fox who crawled out.

Karasu stared at the figure before him, more pleased with this new development than if Yoko had actually died. His original opponent had returned, his fragile human body covered in new wounds. The grimace on Kurama's face, the suppressed cry of pain when he tried to move, and the dread in his eyes from knowing he was outclassed—was there anything more beautiful?

Watching Kurama reach beneath his hair to pull out a weapon, Karasu's fingers twitched with the desire to run through those tangled locks. Soon, it would happen soon.

When the rose burst from the failed transformation, he struggled not to let his excitement show at the shock on Kurama's face. His victim was spiritually dry; no energy meant he couldn't see the living bombs anymore, which meant they were back to playing their original game.

But then Kurama surprised him by leaping back into the arena and launching a barrage of physical attacks against him, and he could barely contain his joy. He knew the other preferred to utilize the rose whip as a weapon; it kept his enemies at a distance, so that they could never get close enough to touch. To have the cool and distant Kurama initiate the assault, almost haphazardly placing himself within Karasu's grasp with every maneuver, and Karasu denying himself that pleasure—it was a wonderful sensation.

"Coming into such close proximity… You must know it's suicide. Could it be that you actually desire my embrace? That you want to feel my arms around you, crushing you?"

There was no reply from the redhead, but then again, he hadn't expected one. Yoko hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut, but Karasu didn't think his intended victim had spoken more than two sentences to him since entering the ring. But they didn't need words between them, not when the redhead had those expressive green eyes and made those delicious yelps of pain that told Karasu everything he needed to know.

Kurama finally managed to penetrate his defenses and push him back with a strike to the chest. Karasu smirked at his assailant. The blow had carried enough force to bruise, but that wasn't what amused him. He inserted a finger into his wound and dug out the seed that had been planted there.

"You'll have to try harder than that." But Karasu wasn't going to give him the chance.

He sprung his underground trap, capturing his victim's leg. When it detonated, the loveliest cry of agony escaped those lips. The damaged leg ought to keep Kurama immobilized while he languidly tortured him to death, relishing in the agony that flashed in his victim's eyes and the howls of pain that escaped his mouth. But of course, this time, he would make sure to avoid the face so as not to mar the beauty of his adversary or those already damaged red strands. He had learned his lesson, and took care to target only specific areas of Kurama's body.

The precision with which he controlled his creations was something he had learned through countless battles with other demons and the occasional human psychic. It had been good practice for this moment.

The results of his handiwork were magnificent. Fiery red hair framed a beautiful face; glistening red blood flowed from open wounds; and in the midst of it all, a pair of fierce green eyes drowned in the very depths of despair—a masterpiece. It was more than he could have hoped for from this battle, and he intended to drag it out, to torture the creature before him until there was nothing left of his spirit. Beauty was fragile, it was fleeting, and Karasu needed to relish what little time they had together. There would be no such thing as a quick death for Kurama.

After another round of carefully aimed blasts, he watched as Kurama struggled to stand. Even with a body that was shaking like a leaf, those green eyes flashed in defiance as they regarded him, causing him to scowl. The demon's stubbornness had been entertaining at first, but it was getting old. He was the victim; he had no right to look at him with such audacity. He should be on down on his knees where he belonged, because he was _weak_. Beauty could never defeat power, and Karasu would show him what it meant to face off against _real_ power.

The sound of a series of detonations intermingled with his victim's cries. The demon's body hit the stone with a thump, motionless amongst the broken petals that littered the ground.

_Just like her. _

Except something was different this time. Karasu's scowl returned as disappoint washed over him. All that trouble and Kurama's perfectly preserved face was hidden in his final moments, buried in the dirt and grime on the ground.

Demons began chanting his name in the stands while the referee initiated her count.

A few seconds into the count, the previously motionless man began to get up again. Karasu's eyes narrowed when his victim's head tilted up to meet his gaze. There was that look again, the defiance and contempt, as if Karasu was the weaker demon despite the fact that Kurama was the one on hands and knees. Even at death's door, the demon continued to oppose him; he was powerless and yet refused to admit defeat.

With a growl, Karasu released a powerful bolt of energy with enough power to kill in one blast.

He felt a simultaneous surge of energy from Kurama, just before the redhead collapsed. There was no time to wonder where all that power came from, as something suddenly plunged into his chest. His entire body was overtaken by numbness even as the creature fed on his blood. Poison, he realized. He had been injected with poison so he couldn't fight back, and could only wait for his demise.

He had been wrong about his adversary. Kurama didn't think beauty could compete with power—it was merely a tool.

_At least we'll die together._

His body hit the ground.


End file.
